


Hunger Games / End Times Crossover

by tildepolo



Category: End Times (Webseries), Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tildepolo/pseuds/tildepolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm bad at titles.</p><p>Welcome to the Hunger Games, only our tributes this year seem a little familiar. </p><p>Told through alternating points of view from the perspective of Kimber, Dane, Trace, and the Archivist (who has for the purposes of this fiction been named Avery), basically everyone from End Times is thrown into an area. </p><p>Thanks to Alex for the original askbox drop meant to inspire pure pain that led to this work, as well at to Kevin for jumping on the pain train, and to Kim for giving me a fake name for the Archivist when Alex decided to be a brat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reaping / Good-bye / Train Ride

** The Reaping - Kimber **

Walking up those dirty wooden steps felt like walking to her execution. _Might as well be_ , Kimber thought.  
“Let’s have a big round of applause for this year’s tribute, Kimberly Gregg!” Effie Trinket bubbled. Kimber stood on the stage as the polite applause made its way through the crowd. The noise didn’t phase her. She was searching the audience, trying to find Adrian. Her eyes caught her mother, face red and eyes tearing.  
“And now, for the gentlemen.” Effie tottered on high heels to the giant fishbowl on the other side of the stage.  
Kimber’s eyes found Adrian’s face. As soon as she saw him her stoic face shed a tear. His eyes were so full of sadness, his arms wrapped around himself.  
 _I love you_ , she mouthed to him, as Effie struggled to pick a name from the bowl. _I love you I love you I love you_. She wanted to hold him. _Don’t worry_ , she thought to him. _I’m strong, I’m smart, I’ll win and I’ll come home and I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry. Don’t cry._ But she kept mouthing the same three words to him over and over. _I love you I love you I lo_ \--  
“Adrian Gregg!” Effie nearly burst with the excitement of reading aloud the same last name twice.  
The whole square was mute in a horrified silence. The only sound to be heard was Kimber’s mother, no longer trying to hide her heart-wrenching sobs as she watched both her children walk to their death sentence.  
Adrian appeared to not have even heard Effie announce his name. He was still staring at Kimber with the same teary-eyed, wrapped-arms stance when the Peacekeepers came to pull him from his spot and stand up onto the stage.  
“Ahh,” Effie oozed. “The resemblance gives it away as much as the last name. You two are siblings!” Her voice squeaked with a sickly excitement as dread filled Kimber’s stomach.  
Several in the audience were wiping tears away at the sight of the Gregg children on the stage together. Kimber herself had a steady stream of tears falling down her face, although she did not bother to wipe them away.  
“Yes,” she choked into the microphone, trying not to let her emotions affect her voice.  
As Effie prattled on about the Games, Kimber crossed to the other side of the stage to hold Adrian’s hand.  
“I’m so sorry, honey.” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Adrian squeezed her hand in response, apparently beyond the capacity of speech.  
Suddenly a thought occurred to Kimber that stopped her tears. _Adrian won’t die_ , she thought. _He won’t die. He’ll win. He won’t die._ She looked down at her little brother as the Peacekeepers dragged them into the Hall of Justice. _He won’t die because I won’t let them hurt him._

** The Goodbye - Trace **

Trace could hear the muffled sobs of a mother saying good-bye to her son through the thin walls of the Hall of Justice. She took a moment to wonder how she could tell it was the boy’s mother. For all she knew, it could be his wife. His girlfriend. His brother. His half-nephew. _Maybe a mother’s cries are just distinctive_ , she thought. _Something about maternal instinct._ Trace knew she was lying to herself, though. Trace heard a mother’s cries through the wall because that’s exactly who she was waiting to see walk through the door.  
Trace readjusted herself in the stiff chair with the torn leather. She tried to look anywhere but at the door. That proved to be difficult, however. The room was remarkably bare - life in District 8 was compact, efficient. There wasn’t much room for anything else. A small, grey room. No windows. Just a few chairs and a small table.  
Trace tried to guess who was going to come to say goodbye to her. Teachers from school, perhaps. She didn’t really have any friends, but maybe some passing acquaintances from school might be moved enough to come wish her luck in the games. Maybe some long-lost yet-unknown relative would come barging through the door, crying over her and grieving her fate. Some of the people in the town liked buying her stories. Maybe they’d become endeared enough to her to want to give her something before she left.  
The door stayed shut. The room stayed silent.  
Out of boredom, Trace started drawing little figures into the wooden arm of the chair with her fingernail. A little child. A girl, she decided, drawing a little skirt onto the stick figure. Next to the child she drew a cat. She drew the two of them sitting under a tree. Then she added a sun. Then, with the small amount of space left for her to etch doodles into the arm of the chair, she started to draw for the child a taller figure, also in a skirt. The figure of the little girl’s mo-  
“Ma’am.” A Peacekeeper had burst into the room. “It’s time go to.” Before Trace could say anything else she was being dragged out of the room by a couple of Peacekeepers who were altogether far more rough than they needed to be. Trace was pushed out into the hall, just in time to watch the male tribute from the room next door be forced out in the same aggressive manner, along with an older woman wailing loudly about her son.  
 _So it was his mom_ , Trace thought. While part of her understood the gravity of the situation, and understood exactly what was happening at the other end of the train ride, she couldn’t help but focused on the deep and painful sobs of the boy’s mother. She wondered what her own mother would be doing were she here, saying good-bye to Trace.  
 _She’s long gone_ , Trace reminded herself. _Forget about it._ She looked up and saw a figure, the same figure that had pulled her name out of the bowl. Altogether too colorful and boisterous, Trace tried to listen to the words coming out of his mouth. She found it hard to pay attention. His accent was so thick, it sounded like a speech impediment. She tried not to trip as she boarded her ride to the Capitol. 

** The Train Ride - Dane **

Dane sat watching the highlights reel on the train to the Capitol. A short ride indeed, but it was still far more luxurious than what he was used to back home. And at least it gave him a bit of time to watch the Reaping highlights reel in peace.  
Well, almost peace. The girl to Dane’s left sat in an armchair, nearly drowning in a pool of her own tears. She had cried as soon as her name had been called that morning, and hadn’t stopped since. Dance hadn’t managed to catch her name in all the confusion, and he could hardly ask her now that she was paralyzed over her own grief. Dane let her cry. She had plenty to cry over.  
The highlights played in order of districts. First he saw District 1, a Career Tribute boy and girl volunteering for the games. The boy looked like an overconfident high school quarterback, but the girl looked more reserved, militaristic, with a straight back. Their named were Glory and Luxury, very typical-sounding District 1 names. When the Capitol host asked Luxury how she felt to represent her District’s honor, she merely muttered through gritted teeth, “It’s Ellie.” Dane chuckled at that.  
District 2 was another couple of Career tributes, both relaxed and looking pretty confident. District 3 appeared on screen and he saw his own face next to the crying girl - Sasha, that’s her name, he thought as it flashed across the screen. District 4 offered one more volunteer, a tiny girl named Maddie, next to a boy who looked a little confused at the whole affair.  
District 5 popped up and he noticed the male Tribute. He looked different. He wasn’t scared, or cocky, or sad. He didn’t project the same energy as the other Tributes. He almost seemed… _amused?_ Thought Dane. _prepared, maybe? challenged?_ The highlights reel played on about the remainder of the Tributes, particularly about how this year featured not one, but _two_ pairs of siblings -- but Dane couldn’t stop thinking about the District 5 tribute.  
The Hunger Games coverage ended and turned to a commercial. Dane flicked the TV off. Sasha was still sitting in her armchair, crying a bit softer now. The poor girl clearly wasn’t built for this. With a short frame with well-rounded edges, her thick glasses magnified her eyes to her make her look even more like a deer caught in the headlights.  
“Sasha, would you like some hot chocolate?”  
A tiny “mm-hm” escaped her wailing, accompanied by a nod of her head. Dane got up to find something warm to drink for her. _And maybe something a bit stronger for myself_ , he thought.


	2. Styling / Opening Ceremonies / Training Room

**The Styling - Dane**  
 _Neon green, really?_ Dane looks down in disgust at the costume his obnoxious stylist had draped onto him. _Is this what Capitol people think science is?_ Dane chuckled to himself at his own terrible joke. Sasha didn’t even notice him. She seemed more composed than she had when she first arrived, but she still barely spoke.  
As the stylist and the escort were still standing aside patting themselves on the back for their _brilliant_ work this year, simply _groundbreaking_. Dane had a million words he wanted to say to them both. Sitting there boiling in anger, he had to bite his tongue to prevent from shouting. _What the hell do you think you’re doing just sitting there, we have to win these things! Can’t you give us something that doesn’t drown us in giant green bullshit? Can’t you give us something to work with? You’re going to get us killed._ Dane kept his mouth shut, though. He didn’t want to make them angry - they were the only ones on his team, after all.  
Just then, a woman slipped into the room. She whispered something frantically to the two women, and the stylist audibly gasped.  
“Quickly, come with me, now.” The escort said to them both. She waved at them towards the door, and the five of them - Sasha, Dane, the escort, the stylist, and the frantic woman - all hurried out the room and down the hall. They hurried two doors down, and upon entering the room Dane discovered the source of the worry - there stood the two District Five tributes, wearing costumes almost identical to the one Dane was currently wearing.  
As soon as they had entered the room, the two stylists started arguing. “Well, obviously, one district has to change. They can’t both go out there wearing the same thing! I’ll be ruined!” “Well, don’t you think I take this seriously, too? I can’t be known as a hack copycat!” “Well, clearly it can’t be too hard for you to change, can it? Just put something together!” “Me? Why do I have to be the one to change my tributes? You should do it!”  
An aide placed Dane on the pedestal next to the other male tribute, and put Sasha next to the girl. As Dane listened to the two women bickering in high, squeaky voices, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the two of them.  
Harry, the male tribute, leaned into him and whispered into his ear. “What shocks me the most is that they actually think this design is worth defending.” He smiled secretly at Dane then, trying to hurt his head so that the others couldn’t see. “It’s like they asked five-year-olds what science was supposed to look like, and then based their design around that.”  
Dane couldn’t help but laugh. “I know, right? They’re arguing over piles of green fabric. It’s basically a tent in here.”  
Then Harry cleared his throat and addressed the two women, who were still bickering at increasing volumes. “Excuse me,” he announced, “but I regret to inform you that your fight is pointless as hell. These costumes are disgusting. If I am going to survive this thing, I need a costume that actually shows who I am, and doesn’t look like a pile of radioactive horse shit.”  
That, of course, only redirected the fury of the designers towards Harry. They spewed angry words at him - “you ought to be grateful!” -- “that’s a Divine Inspirations original you’re wearing there, you best be careful in it!” -- “you think some District Five trash is better than our work?!”  
Harry’s face remained calm through it all, though. “Pardon me,” he spoke softly, “but I’m pretty sure that it’s my life on the line here, not yours.”  
That visibly flustered the costumers. They left the room to “discuss,” with the escorts, leaving four green tributes and small handful of aides sitting around awkwardly.  
The awkwardness hung in the air for a moment. Dane couldn’t help reflect on how absurd it was to insult the designers - after all, one of the first rules his escort had told him in their briefing was Do Not Piss Off Capitol Folks, They Will Fund Your Freedom.  
“You just don’t quit, do you?” The words left Dane’s mouth before his internal filter caught them.  
“Not going down without a fight, man.” Harry replied, looking at Dane. “Even if I go down, no one can say I didn’t give it a damn try.” He broke eye contact at that moment. “Not that I plan on going out, that is.” He cleared his throat and stood a little taller.  
 _Just remembered that I’m his competition, most likely._ Dane couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment.  
The designers and escorts burst back into the room then, once again bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. “Well,” sighed Dane’s escort, “we’ve decided that, in fairness to the designers, we’re going to start all the costumes from scratch. So come along, we’ve got some work to do.” As Dane was shuffled out of the room, he glanced for a moment back at Harry - and for a moment, he thought he saw Harry glancing back.

** The Opening Ceremonies - Avery **

“This is the least subtle costume I have ever seen in the games.” Avery complained to herself, looking down at her ridiculously oversexualized costume. “They might as well be parading me around naked!” District Six was transportation - a very unglamorous theme, and so the designers had gotten creative. A little too creative. Dressed up as a train engine, she wore a tall hat meant to look like a smoke column and a sheer black jumpsuit.  
“Could be worse,” spoke Charlie from the corner. He was so quiet and unassuming most of the time, she had almost forgotten he was there. “Last year the female District Six tribute only had some carefully placed body paint.”  
“You have more right to be angry than me.” She laughed. “With your hair painted up like that, they’re not even going to recognize you in the arena.” Their designer had called Charlie’s long, blonde hair a “problem,” insisting that it looked neither “train-esque” nor “Capitol chic.” Charlie had remained silent in the dressing room, but Avery had tried to defend him, insisting that in District Six, all men wore their hair long, and besides, it provided a distinguishing characteristic for the Arena. But the designer hushed her, and insisting painting it black and putting it up in a bun underneath a hat to match Avery’s.  
“I’m not too worried about getting sponsors, anyhow.”  
“You should! They’re damn useful. We just need to focus for these first couple of events, and then hopefully that can keep us in the eyes of those rich bastards out there.” Avery felt a protective instinct over Charlie - the reason why was uncertain, but he had a sort of naive kindness that was disarming in such a harsh environment. He had been the son of the grocer back home, and always sneaked sweets to the little children. She felt like he deserved a bit of kindness here.  
“I’m not at all worried.” Charlie spoke without making eye contact now, looking at the ground. “I’m not worried because I don’t expect to make it out alive either way. All this terror, this violence -- it’s not where I belong.”  
Avery hesitated for a moment. She needed to be watching her own back. _He’s the competition,_ she told herself. _He could be trying to trick you. Playing weakness. Don’t trust anyone._ Still, she put a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll watch each other’s backs out there, okay? We can work together. We’ll have an alliance. Okay? We just need to focus.”  
“Yeah. Okay.” He shuffled his feet in the dirt. “At least this part isn’t the hard part.” He peaked around the corner - outside of it where thousands upon thousands of people, waiting to see the Opening Ceremonies.  
“Ugh,” Avery looked out to the crowd with him. “This is totally the hard part. You want to kill me? Fine. Come at me. But don’t make a damn beauty pageant out of it.”  
“How can you think this is the hard part? I would think the part with the land mines and the swords would be the hard part.”  
“I can deal with violence. I can deal with the gritty, life-or-death thing. It’s not great, but I can do it. But all these people, treating it like it’s glamorous and fun -- that’s the disgusting part.”

“I think I would prefer a few sequins over having knives thrown at my head.”  
Avery actually laughed. “I’ve actually dealt with that before! You’d be amazed what goes on in the train maintenance bay.”  
Charlie raised his eyebrows at that. “They throw knives?”  
“Well, wrenches. But either way, this--” she gestured to the crowd “--is definitely the most foreign part of this experience for me.”  
“Well, either way we’re both in for a wonderful time of it.” He smiled. “Ready to roll?” He gestured to their chariot, which was now lined up with the others to make their grand entrance.  
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Avery rolled her eyes and climbed aboard as an announcer’s voice boomed from the stadium outside.

** The Training - Trace **

The Training Room was overwhelming. Everyone in the room had a specific strategy. Walking in, it was clear who was trying to show off to the others, and who was trying to lay low. _Or who is trying to hide their terror,_ Trace thought to herself, clasping her hands together to keep them from shaking. She took a deep breath.  
Her options overwhelmed her. What she needed to learn the most was combat skills - she was smart enough to keep some survival skills together, but she’d never held a weapon in her life. The station nearest her was the knife station -- the two siblings from District Eleven, Janice and Neil, were already there, making an impressive display of hitting bullseyes on the throwing targets. _Note to self: avoid those ones in the arena._ She wandered down the way a bit, passing a station for learning to make campfires. One boy was already sitting there, the blonde-haired tribute from District Six. _Charlie. His name’s Charlie._ She smiled at him briefly before remembering he was competition, and moved on.  
Just then the two District Twelve tributes came through, the brother and sister. She was holding one arm around his shoulders, with her eyes scanning the entire room. She gently dropped him off at the campfire station before moving herself to the spear station, where she started brutally attacking a training dummy.  
Trace decided at this point to just head for the closest station that looked relatively safe, which happened to be the poisonous plant station, where two guys were already sitting, talking animatedly about one of the plants in discussion.  
“But if you boil it in salt water, all of the poisonous elements are pulled out --” “But that’s completely useless! Plant life in the arena is for immediate sustenance. Having to cook it is--” “But in a pinch, any option is a good option!”  
Trace recognized them immediately as the male tributes from Districts Three and Five. It was pretty normal for Three and Five to get along - Power and Technology are both such science-heavy industries, the two districts have a powerful working relationship already. Trace tried to keep her head down and look through the pictures and descriptions on the screen. She couldn’t help but watch, though, as the melodrama of the Training Room unfolded around her.  
As Harry and Dane continued bickering about herbology behind her, Trace noticed a girl, small but muscular, swinging around an ax with powerful precision. _Note to self: avoid her in the arena, too._ She recognized her as Vega, the District Seven tribute - Lumber Industry. _No wonder she’s so good with an ax._  
There were a good number of people in the room who seemed like they were just barely hiding their fear. The other District Seven tribute, Harvey, was sitting next to the District Ten male, Quinn, both appearing to be waiting for the Ax Station, both with terrified expressions at the skill that Vega was showing with her ax.  
Meanwhile, the District Seven boy, Charlie, and the District 12 boy, Adrian, seemed to be enjoying themselves by the campfire station. Both were young, and were messing around with matches. Adrian’s older sister, Kimber, rushed over and pulled him away. She spoke quietly to him for a second before ushering him over to the camouflage station. Charlie seemed disappointed, and returned to attempting to build a fire out of rocks and moss.  
From behind her, Trace heard one of the boys speak up. “Well, check out the competition.” She turned to see four Tributes walk through the Training Room, noisily joking with each other and making fun of others who were training.  
Harry snickered. “Stupid Career Pack. Every year a bunch of the big Career tributes form up, and every year it ends poorly for them. Careers always get killed by other Careers.”  
Trace didn’t mean to start a conversation with them - she was supposed to be keeping her head down, after all - but sometimes she couldn’t help but speak. “Alliances are usually pretty helpful. Strategically, it helps to have some members focus on food and survival while others focus on continuing eliminating threats.”  
Harry seemed surprised that Trace had spoken at all - clearly, his comment was intended to be directed towards Dane. Dane still spoke in return, however.  
“I mean, with arrogant cods like that they often don’t stay together until it’s down to just them. One of them always gets impatient, kills the others in their sleep.”  
“Everyone always blindly follows what their mentors tell them, is the problem,” Harry put down his book, pointing to each tribute in the room. “Nicer districts, they’re born to do this.” He pointed to the Career Pack, who were showing off their archery skills. “Their mentors tell them to show off, make a statement. Whereas smaller, poorer districts,” he pointed to Adrian, still messing around with camouflage painting, “are told to keep their head down. They hide any talents they might have, so as to not make themselves a target.” He paused for a moment, and glanced over to the weight lifting station. “Now that girl,” he pointed to Kimber. who was throwing weights around loudly and angrily. “I don’t know what her strategy is.”  
“She’s District Twelve, yeah?” Dane asked.  
“Yeah, she came in with her little brother. Kimber is her name.” Trace had learned the names of most everyone by watching and rewatching the Reaping and Opening Ceremonies highlights.  
“I don’t know what in the hell she’s trying to do up there. She’s Mining Industry, she doesn’t have a lick of combat experience in her.” Harry commented.  
“Well, clearly she’s not going down without a fight.” Trace noticed how Kimber, every few seconds, would pause her workout to glance over at Adrian.  
“Yeah, well, she’s not the only one.” Dane glanced over at Harry, who was now intently watching the other Tributes,  
 _Get out, before they start analyzing you a bit too much._ was the panicked thought that suddenly went through Trace’s head. “I should go,” she spoke up, “the knife station is free now.” She ran to the station without waiting to see if they waved her off. _No attachments, Tracy Roth._ she scolded herself. _Attachments in the arena are a dead weight._  
For the rest of the training session, she had to force herself to keep her mind on her combat training instead of watching everyone else. By the time the bell rang for the end of the session, she had managed to throw a couple of bullseyes. When she left the room, she made sure not to make eye contact with Harry and Dane.


End file.
